


grounded / upheaval

by sharingans



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:27:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27443380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharingans/pseuds/sharingans
Summary: “niche as hell hashimada au where hashirama is a 3 times consecutive giant veggie winning farmer and madara is his farmer husband who guards hashirama’s giant veggies at night” — 10231224 @ tumblr
Relationships: Senju Hashirama/Uchiha Madara
Comments: 8
Kudos: 49





	grounded / upheaval

**Author's Note:**

> insp/credit: this fanart which lives rent-free in my mind https://10231224.tumblr.com/post/616657321552232448/niche-as-hell-hashimada-au-where-hashirama-is-a-3
> 
> please take every single detail with a grain of salt i did little to no research this is a story about boyfriends first and vegetables second

“And that was this year’s runner up, Yamato! Now to hear from the two-time champion of Konoha’s annual autumn flower show, Hashirama Senju!”

A tall man stands up to a roaring chorus of cheers, making his way up the podium to share some words on his consecutive victory. On the third step, he stumbles, and the audience shifts to laughter. It’s so comedic, it would almost seem orchestrated if not for the white-haired man standing to the side of the stage, hiding his face in his palm with obvious disappointment.

Once he’s vertical again, Hashirama tries to play it cool by laughing it off and fiddling with the height of the mic stand. As the audience’s amusement dies down, he recalls Tobirama’s words - speak slowly, clearly, and deliberately. What comes out instead is rushed jibberish, practically screamed into the mic, and Izuna scrambles to find the TV remote to lower the volume before his brother wakes up.

He frantically hits the mute button then goes still as he counts to ten. His eyes dart up, wondering if the babbling buffon on the screen was enough to cause his brother to stir. But the house remains silent; no rustling of sheets, no floorboards creaking. Thank god, he releases the breath he was holding and relaxes back into the sofa, turning the volume back on.

For someone who’s won this competition before, Hashirama doesn’t seem to have much confidence or composure. And yet, Izuna can’t tear his eyes away from the television screen. The man is clearly floundering like a fish out of water, but the passion for his plants is evident in his words. His voice has a magnetism that manages to captivate the crowd in front of him with how earnest he is. He hadn’t intended on passing the morning watching farmers compare eggplant sizes (overcompensating much?) but he’s glad he stopped channel-surfing long enough to watch the winner make a fool of himself for 10 minutes straight, else he’d still be flicking through channels to pass the time until his brother wakes up. Days off were rare with how hard Madara worked to bring in enough money to support the two of them. An outbreak of smallpox had taken their parents from them, their brothers, Izuna’s strength, and Madara’s right eye. Now Izuna was too weak for labour-intensive work, and Madara too proud to ask for help.

This guy on TV though? Practically begging for help if the way he stammered through his speech was any indication. He kept looking to the side at the earlier white-haired man for encouragement, but the latter seemed more embarrassed to even be associated with him to offer much assistance. This equivalent of a drawn out car crash continues and Izuna loves every second of it. He could do without the thorough explanation of minerals and soil composition, but Hashirama is so thrilled to share his worryingly extensive knowledge on which type of manure produces the best results that he can’t help but listen along. Mystified by the apparent allure of cow shit, he doesn’t notice the presence at his back.

“So, this is the joy of daytime TV.” comes the rugged voice.

Izuna whips around, shocked he didn’t notice him come down. “Madara! I thought you were still asleep.”

Madara however is very much awake, albeit shaking off the remnants of a sleep cut short. He waves off Izuna’s concern, mumbles something about feeling rested enough (they both know it’s a lie, of course. He would never let Izuna take the blame for anything). Stealthy as ever, he’s already nursing a cup of coffee and extending a second to his younger brother. Izuna gratefully takes the mug and scoots over so Madara can join him. There’s a comfortable silence between them as they watch the proceedings, broken only by the occasional remark about Hashirama’s fashion sense.

“Look at his hair, it’s so outdated.”

“That shirt with that jacket? No style at all.”

“And the scarf? Utterly ridiculous.”

When the host finishes his commentary on Hashirama’s progress since his win the previous year, the reigning champion is asked to share some final words on how he plans to spend his reward money. He outlines a plan to expand his gardening plot and how he’s looking into automated machinery to help with maintenance and upkeep. It’s quite boring really — the most exciting bit is hiring an extra hand or two to help him with fending off caterpillars or whatever else threatens the sanctity of carrots and such.

“Ugh. How about he spends the reward money on some fashion sense.”

“Ha, how much is this competition even worth? A cart of turnips?”

And then it happens. His white-haired associate stops leaning against the wall and straightens his back while two men carry out an oversized piece of card. Hashirama himself is beaming, grin so wide that his cheeks must hurt, as the card is flipped around to face the crowd. It reads:

KONOHAGAKURE AUTUMN FLOWER SHOW 1895

1ST PLACE GRAND PRIZE

AWARDED TO:

HASHIRAMA SENJU

$10,000

“What the f–”

Madara’s mug falls from his hand and smashes on the floor before Izuna can finish his sentence. On the TV, the audience explodes into a round of thunderous applause. Hashirama wipes away at tears as he makes his way down the podium stairs with his small fortune, and his companion pats him on the shoulder. Madara continues to stare in shock at the TV — that much money could feed Izuna and him for _years._ It takes a few moments to notice the hand on his shoulder shaking him back to his senses.

“Brother. Brother! Were you listening? He said he was hiring. Ten thousand! And he’s hiring!” Izuna can barely contain himself. This was the perfect opportunity for them. Sure, shovelling cow faeces wasn’t the most glamorous job, but apparently it could pay very well!

Unable to respond, Madara bends down, carefully picking the ceramic shards off the floor, collecting them in his palm, walks over to the bin and drops them inside. He grabs a cloth from the kitchen drawer and soaks up the coffee, then rinses it out in the sink. Then he stands there, staring out the window, feeling the gentle warmth of the rising afternoon sun. This was their chance.

**Author's Note:**

> izuna being a good influence on madara??? 0/10 ooc


End file.
